


you give me this feeling, this everglow

by slytherinschaser



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Pining, anonymous gift giving, non compliant to years 6 and 7 because fuck canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:14:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27155758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slytherinschaser/pseuds/slytherinschaser
Summary: Hermione Granger has been receiving anonymous gifts for months and deep down she knows who she wants them to be from but they're definitely not from him, right?
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 14
Kudos: 152





	you give me this feeling, this everglow

**Author's Note:**

> 'tis the season for gifts *anonymously given
> 
> I've promised this fic to miss jenna about 50 million years so here you go! thank you to scarlet and tierney for reading and editing and getting me through this. it definitely wasn't the angst i enjoy writing but it was still a good time.

It was a Monday morning when she received the first owl.

Left hand holding up her potions notes and right lifting a slice of buttered toast to her mouth, Hermione was slightly surprised to feel Ginny tap her on her shoulder. Ginny gestured to the table in front Hermione, bringing her attention to the owl.

Attached to the feet of the owl was a long box, wrapped in glossy black paper with a silver ribbon. Who was sending her a present? Her birthday had been last week, and she’d already gotten gifts from everyone at Hogwarts, and a care package sent to her from the Weasleys and her parents. It was a generic owl, one normally found in the school owlery or the post shop in Diagon Alley. Maybe it was from the Ministry? They’d been sending quite a few letters with awards and such since the war ended. Maybe it didn’t have anything to do with her birthday.

Hermione noticed the owl almost glare at her, ruffling its feathers in an annoyed manner. She quickly set down her toast and notes, wiped her hands on the napkin next to her plate and reached over to untie the box from the owl’s claws. There was no point in guessing who sent it to her, there'd probably be a note attached.

The owl didn’t even wait a second longer than it took her to remove the package from it. Sending her a final glare,  _ she was convinced by now the owl was glaring at her _ , the bird stretched its wings and took off into the air. She focused her energy back to the package in her hand.

“Who’s it from?” Harry asked, from his seat across the table. Ron reached over to grab the slice of toast remaining on her plate.

“Ron, you know there’s a stack right in front of you- did you need to grab mine?” She muttered, distracted from the present in her hand.

“Right, but those aren’t buttered perfectly the way yours is,” he grinned back at, cheeks already full of her breakfast.

“Hermione,” Harry waved his hand in front of her, attempting to keep her from trying to kill Ron with her eyes. “Who’s it from?”

“I don’t know, it doesn’t say on the outside. Maybe it says on the inside?” She replied, turning over the black wrapped box in her hand.

“Well open it then!” Ginny said, looking like she was going to open it for her.

She rolled her eyes, flipping the package and gently using her nail to slit the tape, keeping the black wrapping paper intact. The box underneath was a matte black, with the word “Schrivenshaft’s” embossed in a dark shiny grey on the lid.  _ The quill shop? _ Had she ordered something? No, she hadn’t. And even if she had, it wouldn’t have come gift wrapped.

“A quill? Who got you a quill, Hermione?” Ron asked, wrinkling his nose at the idea of a quill as a present.

“There’s no note.”

“Maybe we should report it to McGonagall- could be hexed.” Harry joked, quieting down when Hermione picked up her wand and pointed it at him, ready to hex  _ him. _ “Hermione,” he groaned, “it’s been 5 years, surely we can joke about it now.

“All I’m saying Harry, is that there was someone trying to kill you- at least we thought he was, and it was perfectly within my rights to be concerned about you randomly getting an expensive broomstick that could knock you off and knowing your inclination to spend excessive amounts of time in the hospital wing, I was really just doing you a fav-”

“Hermione,” Neville interrupted. “He could have a point. What if it’s someone upset about the war and how it ended. You know there’s still Death Eater sympathizers out there.” She looked around at those seated near her- nearly everyone was watching now, interested in the box in her hand now that they knew there wasn’t a sender name.

“Yes, but not many. I hate to say it, but when the Malfoys defected early in the war, all their rich smarmy friends chose to stay neutral and we caught all the Death Eaters that were active. The would-be sympathizers all look to the Malfoys now and you know the public image they’ve chosen to portray- friendly with the Order.” Surprisingly, this came from Ron. Though maybe not so surprisingly. The war had enhanced his logistical skills, and they still showed up in conversation, once in a while, since the war ended.

The war had changed a lot. So many of their friends had died. Looking down the Gryffindor table, she could see holes where their peers had once sat. _Lavender. Colin._ She could remember Fred sitting there, joking with George, back in their Hogwarts years. Now George lived by himself, in the flat meant for the both of them, above their joke shop.

And it wasn’t just the Gryffindor table. Each house had lost their members. Each student had lost a friend. The teachers had lost their coworkers. Hogwarts had lost its innocence.

But they were rebuilding.

She looked over to the Ravenclaw table. She saw Luna, surrounded by a group of first and second years, all looking up at her with awe in their eyes, while she made little bubbles blow out from her wand, each iridescent and in the shape of a different animal. The little bubble animals would float for a while before landing on the first years, some on their noses, others on their shoulder. The little witches and wizards would laugh and the bubble would burst   


At the Hufflepuff table, she saw 8 different groups, each group made up of a group of mixed years from first to eighth. They were all using the various foods on the table to make up sculptures. A couple groups looked like they were making life-size versions of a lion and a dog? Another group was building up, a tower like building. Maybe it was the Eiffel Tower? They looked like they were having fun though, with first years climbing up on the benches to reach up and help mold their creations, and the eighth years stepping back, laughing while talking to the other students and keeping an eye for any clumsy underclassmen.

The Slytherin table was quieter than the other 3, but even there, there was a shift in energy from how it had when the war was brewing. The few of them that had supported the Death Eaters had been removed from their midst, and those that remained were finally able to lift their shoulders, no longer having the burden of the dark side weighing down on them. The first years had a Quidditch playset out, each student moving a player around with their wand. There was a looseness in their conduct, a genuineness in their laughter that would never have been allowed before. The students of Slytherin had always been miniature adults, but the war had shattered those expectations. Now the only expectations were for them to be students. Further up the table, the eighth years sat in a group, huddled around their leader. A couple things hadn’t changed.

Draco Malfoy was still the prince of Slytherin. Almost as if he could read her thoughts, he lifted his head from the paper they were all looking at, and stared straight at her. His silver eyes seemed sharp, even from across the room, as they met her golden honey eyes. Caught off guard by his sudden movement, the other Slytherin eighth years followed his gaze to her. Now they were all looking at her.

Feeling her cheeks heat up, Hermione raised her hand in a quick wave to Pansy, who was sitting on  _ his _ side. They had become friends during the war, having shared a tent for a while. All the younger women had. She had also become friendly with  _ most _ of the other Slytherin eighth years. He might have been on the light side, but Draco Malfoy was still an annoying prick.

Trying to ignore the stares from that table, Hermione turned back to the box in front of her. Frowning, she also ignored the curious eyes of her fellow Gryffindors.

“It’s not likely to be hexed, I mean why would they send something from a quill shop?” As she said that, a second owl landed in front of her.

Another school looking owl. Another package covered in black wrapping paper and a ribbon. She looked at Ginny while untying the package from the owl’s claws. It took off and Ginny raised her eyebrows before redirecting her eyes to the packages sitting in front of Hermione. Similarly to the first package, she flipped it over, checking for any note or name of the sender. Nothing.

She slit the tape with her nail. Instead of an embossed matte black box, inside was a box holding sugar quills- her favorite candy. The red and blue crystalized feathers shook as Ron grabbed the box from her.

He frowned and tilted his head to the side. “I don’t think you should eat this,” he stated. Continuing on, he said “It’s not the first time you’ve gotten treats from someone, even someone you don’t know. But an unmarked package? I don’t like it Hermione.”

“You think it’s poisoned?” Harry’s voice shook in quiet anger.

“I don’t think we should risk it.”

Ron was right.

“Let’s see what’s in this other box,” Hermione said, leaving the sugar quills in the hands of the boys.

She gently lifted the lid off the box, gasping when she saw the quill inside. The feather was a vibrant red and orange, glossy enough that it looked like it was on fire, from the light reflecting off of it. The nib was a beautiful black, the color of the darkest ink. It was stunning. And probably more expensive than all her quills combined. She sat there shocked for a minute. Hermione wasn’t one for admiring cute or pretty things, but this? It was the prettiest thing she’d ever received.

This she wanted to keep. The sugar quills too, but they couldn’t compare to this.

Before the boys could grab the quill from her too- the  _ Phoenix Quill _ , she pulled out her wand and was just about to mutter a spell when she heard Ginny ask her what she was doing.

“We’re worried they’re dangerous, right? The gifts? Well, let’s check. We don’t need to take these to McGonagall. I’d like to think we’ve learned at least a little bit in the past 5 years, like how to check for a cursed object. Bill would be rather disappointed if we couldn’t do that by now, wouldn’t he?” She replied with a lilt in her voice, trying to sound joking. Inside she was anxious, hoping it was just an innocent present, never having wanted to keep something so bad.

Waving her wand over the quill, still sitting in the box, she muttered a long list of spells they’d come up with during the war to check if an object was cursed. After a couple minutes of spell casting, and a tense quiet over the table as everyone near her watched, she was relieved to see nothing had changed. The quill was in the end, just a quill. An extraordinary one, but not a cursed one. 

She lifted it from the box, and imagined writing with it. It was the kind of quill someone signed important documents with, and was normally kept sitting ornamentally on a large mahogany desk in an office building with glass walls.

She didn’t notice the silver eyes gazing intently at her, as she raised the quill. She didn’t notice the sharp intake of breath as she gently stroked the feather. 

The rest of the table lost interest and after a few minutes of admiring the beautiful quill, Hermione set it down. It was beautiful and it took her breath away, but in the end it was a pretty object, and Hermione wasn’t one for spending large periods of time focusing on such things.

The more pressing thought on her mind was who had sent her the quill and why. Scrunching her eyebrows, she groaned in frustration. She reached for the box of sugar quills across the table where it sat still next to Ron, ready to suck on a sugar quill to supplement her thinking. Before she could grab it though, he snatched it up and out of reach.

“Ronald Weasley, if you don’t hand me back my sugar quills right this instant! We made a deal- you never touch my sugar quills!”  _ He might like anything sugar filled but they were the only sweet thing she was fond of. _

“Hermione, I’m not going to eat your quills, but neither are you. Not until we check for poison first,” he stated firmly. She noticed Harry, Ginny and Neville nod in agreement.

“Fine. We can head to the dungeons and grab some potions to check after breakfast,” she replied, giving in and refocusing on who could have sent the quill.

* * *

It was a Sunday evening when she received the second owl.

She was seated in the eighth year common room when the owl came in.

The common room was a new development, created for the students who should have been independent adults by now but had their education disturbed in ways the school had never seen before. A place to relax, the common room afforded the eighth years a little bit of the freedom they would have had, had they not been too caught up in the war to graduate. It had become a common occurrence for all the eighth years from all the houses to spend their weekend evenings in the joint common room.

An owl coming in to deliver a package wasn’t out of the ordinary. They’d gotten used to having butterbeers delivered to them from the pubs in Hogsmeade. So when an owl came in that night, no one paid any attention to it.

The owl flew straight to where Hermione was sitting, by the fire, next to Theo Nott, Hannah Abbott, and Ron. They had been in the middle of a muggle card game, euchre, with her and Hannah against Ron and Theo, when the owl dropped in the middle of the table, effectively ending their game.

In its claw, the owl held a package. It was a package wrapped in glossy black paper and adorned with a silver ribbon. She could feel Ron’s eyes on her. He recognized the packaging too. How could he not- it had just been a couple weeks ago when she’d received the other two gifts. This box, however, was much bigger than a quill box

__

_ 2 weeks ago, Monday after breakfast: _

__

_ After determining that the sugar quills were also just normal sugar quills, Hermione, Ron and Harry went to their first class of the day, Transfiguration. Still thinking about who could have sent her the gifts, Hermione mindlessly dug her hand around in her bag, reaching for parchment and a quill that was more appropriate for notetaking in class. Frustrated about having no genuine clue who could be her anonymous gift giver, she shoved her arm further down until she felt a sharp prick on her finger. Ouch! _

_ She brought out her hand and immediately stuck her finger in her mouth, using the pressure to stem the blood flowing. She carefully stuck her other hand into the bag, looking and finding the object that had pricked her finger. _ __

_ A broken quill. _ _   
_

_ She suddenly remembered her quill snapping last night in the joint common room as she’d rushed to add some last minute thoughts to her Potions essay. She remembered being upset because it had been her favorite quill. She remembered complaining loudly to Harry about it. _

_ Could it be one of her fellow eighth years who had sent the package? She knew it wasn’t any of the Gryffindor’s- they would have told her before she’d started messing with the curse checking spells. And what reason did they have to anonymously gift her a quill. And such an ornate one at that. _

_ Though, and her mind wandered, why would any of the eighth years send her a quill in that manner? And who would spend that money on her? _

_ She hated herself for it, but the first name that came to mind was Malfoy. He could certainly afford it. He had been in the common room last night, like he was every weekend night. But that was ridiculous. They were barely on speaking terms most of the time, with nearly every conversation between ending in loud arguments and immature hexes. She thought about the time she’d turned his hair green or the time she’d charmed his chair to keep pulling out from underneath him. Why would he buy her a quill? She laughed out loud at the thought of that. _

_ She felt Harry shift beside her, turning to look at her. _ __

_ “What?” He asked, glancing at the finger she held in front of her face. She hadn’t realized she had been staring at the tiny wound on her finger that’d stopped bleeding by this point. _

_ “I broke my quill last night.” _

_ Harry didn’t respond. _

_ No, it wasn’t Malfoy. He certainly wasn’t the only rich person in her year. The person had also sent her sugar quills, her favorite treat and there’s no way he would know that. It was someone else, she was sure of it. _

_ And yet, even as she thought that, she could feel a twinge of regret in her chest. She’d felt something for the one moment she’s allowed herself to believe he’d sent the quill. And the way she felt disappointed now? She didn’t like that. She didn’t want to think about what that meant. _

Present time, Sunday evening

Hermione didn’t look back at Ron. She ignored the way he stood up and walked over to Harry. She avoided turning her head when she could feel them looking at her while quietly whispering. She slowly untied the package from the owl as Harry and Ron walked back to where she was sitting.

The package was once again note less. Trying not to focus on who could have sent it and trying to avoid thinking about the curious glances from Hannah and Theo, she slid her finger under the tape, and gently removed the packaging to find a nondescript baby blue box.

She’d been so focused on trying not to feel the attention of so many people, she didn’t notice the note that slid out and onto the floor beside her feet, having been stuck to the inside of the wrapping paper.

Hermione took a deep breath and slowly lifted the lid to the box. Inside was a beautiful and delicate looking scarf. A baby blue, the scarf looked like it was made of cashmere. She slowly ran her hand over it. It was as soft as it looked.   


Hermione had never focused much on her clothes, picking outfits that felt comfortable and looked decent on her. She’d never really gone out of her way to buy any items quite so nice for her closet. It was beautiful. She picked the scarf up out of the box and wrapped it around her neck. While it looked delicate and light weight, it warmed her up immediately.

Fingering the fabric, she realized there was magic in the scarf. The magic was thread through every fiber of the scarf, warming every centimeter. As delicate as it was, as beautiful as it was, it was also functional. It was made to brave the cold Scottish winters and keep her warm from the icy wind. Beautiful and functional.

Whoever had sent here these knew her really well. There had been two beautiful gifts as well as her favorite treat. She just wished she could thank them and ask them why they were sending them to her.

Again, just briefly, her mind wandered to a certain tall blonde Slytherin. Before she could spend any more than that moment thinking of him, Harry tapped her shoulder.

“Hermione, is that a note?” he asked, and when she gave him a confused look, he gestured down to the floor, by her feet.

She looked down and noticed a small off white heavy piece of parchment by her foot. She slowly reached down to grab the note, her hand shaking slightly. Was she about to find out who was sending these.

It seemed foolish and she tried to not think about it, but those brief seconds she allowed herself to think maybe it was Malfoy made her feel a way she hadn’t before. She didn’t want to think about why. She wasn’t ready to admit it yet. But neither was she ready to find out who was really sending her gifts, before she knew as soon as she did, there would be no reason to think it could be him. She’d be forced to think about the real gift giver instead.

She opened the note to near perfect calligraphy:

_ You blow me away every day. To replace the scarf that was also blown away. I hope you enjoyed the Quidditch match yesterday. _

Oh. The scarf.

_ Yesterday, Saturday morning _

__

_ Every other Saturday morning, the 8 _ _ th _ _ years gathered for a Quidditch match. Being too old to be allowed to play for the school league, they’d formed their own league. To keep things interesting, they played 2 houses versus 2 houses each match. Gryffindor and Hufflepuff versus Ravenclaw and Slytherin, Gryffindor and Ravenclaw versus Hufflepuff and Slytherin and on the rare occasion, Gryffindor and Slytherin versus Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw. _

_ Today’s match was Gryffindor and Slytherin versus Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw. Nearly the whole school showed up for the match. The Eighth years not playing all sat together in the same area of the bleachers, with one half a sea of mixed green and silver and red and gold, looking like Christmas enthusiasts, and the other half a mix of yellow and black and blue and bronze.  _

_ Hermione sat in the front row with Parvati, Pansy, and Daphne. The four of them were all decked out, ready to root for Tracey and the boys from their houses. And if Hermione happened to be wearing green ribbons in her hair, who was going to say something? She was just supporting her team, afterall.  _

_ Hermione was struggling to keep her eyes level on the pitch. If she let her eyes drift up, they’d land on the lean, silver eyed man who was carefully watching the field for the snitch. With both Malfoy and Harry playing seeker for their respective houses, there was always a toss up for who’d play between them. This time Malfoy won, and Harry was stuck playing chaser. He wasn’t bad. James Potter’s son could have given him a run for his money. _ __

_ Near the end of the match, she was leaning over the barrier, watching Harry streak by, dodging past one of the beaters from Ravenclaw. Being too busy watching Harry, she didn’t notice Malfoy flying by her so fast, her scarf flew off her neck. She didn’t see where it went, her eyes focused purely on Malfoy as he rushed to the snitch. He was neck and neck with the seeker from Hufflepuff and he reached out his hand, his fingers stretching forward. He had nice hands didn’t he. His fingers stretched forward, the tips brushing against the snitch. He leaned forward a little more and flew a little faster and he caught it. _

_ Within seconds, Hermione and the other girls ran down the stairs and out onto the pitch. The crowd was loud and yelling and so joyous. She ran up to Harry and Ron and jumped into their arms. They picked her up on their shoulders and swirled her around and around as she started to laugh. The crowd swelled and pushed into them and one of them lost their grip slightly and that’s all it took for her to slip and fall off their shoulders. _

_ Before she could hit the ground, she felt a pair of arms wrap under her back and catch her. She didn’t even have time to scream, but she’d inhaled sharply and all that filled her mind now was that scent. Spiced and warm, but with an undertone of musk. Looking up, she had to move her hand in front of the sun to be able to see. And even when she’d blocked out the sun, she felt like she was looking directly at it, staring into light eyes that were made brighter by the win.  _

_ He set her down. _

_ “Careful Granger,” he said plainly, though it sounded almost like a whisper to her. Without her scarf, she was already feeling cold. That’s how she explained the shiver that went through her as she looked at the small smile on his face. The cold is how she’d explain it to herself when thinking about it later that night, alone in her quiet bed, with nothing to distract her thoughts. _

_ Before she could think her actions through, she quickly wrapped her arms around him and shouted a short “great catch!” _

_ She let go of him before he could react and she ran back into the crowd, looking for her friends. The cold was getting to her. That explained the heat in her cheeks. _

_ The celebration carried on and they moved it from the pitch to the joint common room. After an hour or so, they were joined by the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs, and the party just became about hanging out and having a good time rather than celebrating the match win. _

_ She avoided Malfoy the rest of the night, but once in a while, she could almost feel his eyes on her but whenever she looked at him, he was turned the opposite way. So she ignored what had happened before, not allowing herself to dwell on how it felt to have his arms around her and to have hers around him. _

_ At least until she’d stayed up all night, unable to fall asleep, berating herself for that hug. They hadn’t even hugged after they’d won the war, for Merlin’s sake! _

Present time, Sunday night

“Nice scarf, Granger. Where’d you order it from?” Pansy asked, walking over to the group by the fire. She reached out her fingers and let it gently touch the soft material Hermione was holding loosely in her hands. 

“I didn’t,” Hermione responded, absentmindedly, still thinking about the hug. She felt her cheeks get warm. It was the fire. “Buy it, that is, I didn’t buy it. It’s a present.” 

“Granger, are you blushing? Tell me you’re not actually blushing. Is it from a boyfriend then?” 

Hermione stilled. She felt the shivers build up, first along her longer back and then slowly climbing up. She tried hard not to react. She turned her head to the right and slightly up. Malfoy had moved up to the group when she hadn’t been paying attention, with her thoughts distracted by memories of, well, him. 

“I don’t have a boyfriend, Malfoy, don’t be ridiculous. It would be impossible to keep it from Pansy and I’m sure you lot would know if she did.”

“So a secret admirer then? Some 40 year old who lives alone at home, and fancies himself in love with the girl who writes essays for fun?” 

“Fuck off Malfoy.” There went any pleasant thoughts of the hug. Merlin, she really needed to resign herself to the fact that he wasn’t the guy she kept picturing in her head. He was still the obnoxious prat that mocked her and her friends, though it was friendlier now. 

She stood up, ready to leave the common room and spend some time in the quiet trying to figure out who could have sent her the scarf. She also needed to get away, to understand why there was a slightly painful pressure in her chest, knowing that it couldn’t have been Malfoy, not only since he’d been chasing after the snitch when her scarf had blown away, but also since he wasn’t the type to be sending her gifts. 

She didn’t notice the slight smile on his face as he watched her walk off, holding her new scarf to her chest, almost hugging it.

* * *

It was a Wednesday afternoon when she received the third owl. 

She was sitting in the library, quietly studying with Pansy, Daphne, Hannah and Susan when the owl dropped right in front of her, causing her to spill ink all over her notes. 

“Your secret admirer, Granger?” Pansy asked, smirking at her. She rolled her eyes, her heart rate quickening at the thought of what could be in the glossy black box tied to the owl. She untied the package, letting the owl leave, and quickly vanished the ink from her notes, before they were permanently ruined. 

“Any idea who it could be?” Pansy goaded her, with a knowing look in her eyes. 

_ Last Sunday, after receiving the second present _

_ After escaping the common room, Hermione had ended up going for a walk outside by the lake, with her new scarf wrapped around her neck. She’d been so caught up in her thoughts, she hadn’t heard the faint call of someone yelling her name, running to catch up to her.  _

_ “Granger, wait up!”  _

_ Turning around, Hermione quickly lit up her wand with a muttered Lumos.  _

_ “Pansy?”  _

_ “You know he doesn’t hate you anymore.” Hermione rolled her eyes.  _

_ “I know that. We fought side by side in the war. I saved his life. He’d be an idiot if he hated me.”  _

_ “Then why’d you leave?”  _

_ “Just because he doesn’t hate me doesn’t mean he doesn’t not like me. It also doesn’t change the fact that he’s annoying.”  _

_ “You didn’t find him that annoying during the war, did you Granger?”  _

_ Hermione stopped walking and sat down with her back against the boulder at the lake. She closed her eyes in the hopes that when she opened them again, Pansy would be gone and then wouldn’t need to have this conversation. _

_ “You know I’m not leaving right? You said we’d talk about it when the war was over and here we are. I’m not going to lie, there was a time where I didn’t think we’d both make it out alive to get to this point but here we are.” _

_ “Why do you even want to talk about this Pansy, he’s your ex boyfriend!” _

_ “You tried that argument then too- it didn’t work then so why do you think it’ll work this time?” _

_ “It was nothing.”  _

_ “You blushed.”  _

_ “It was cold.”  _

_ “It was 32C.”  _

_ “It was hot and I was flushed.”  _

_ “While happening to look at him.”  _

_ “The sun radiates off his skin- he’s quite pale you know.” _

_ “Granger.”  _

_ “Parkinson.”  _

_ “Let’s walk through this. We were sitting outside, you and I, on watch, as per normal” _

_ “Yes.” _

_ “You were going on and on about how much you wanted a sugar quill and your parents being teeth healers- dontests I think you called it.” _

_ “Dentists.”  _

_ “And suddenly you stopped talking- ” _

_ “- I was at the end of a thought Pansy, that’s what happens when someone finishes a thought- they complete the sentence and finish speaking.  _

_ “You stopped in the middle of the sentence. I looked over, and you were staring at the lake. You know who was getting out of the lake?”  _

_ “It doesn’t mean anything.”  _

_ “Draco. He was getting out the lake and happened to not be wearing a shirt and you just happened to stop talking and just happened to feel flushed right at that moment as you were staring at him.”  _

_ There was a couple minutes of silence.  _

_ “Well what do you want me to say Pansy. You know what you know and I know what you think and nothing I say is going to change your mind.” _

_ “He doesn’t hate you Hermione.”  _

_ “I know.”  _

_ “He’s a good guy. He helped us win the war. He’s the reason I was even with you there. If he hadn’t picked your side, who knows where I or any of the other Slytherins would have been.”  _

_ “I know.” _

_ “So why don’t you want to admit it?” _

_ “It’s not about him not hating me or being a good guy. We still don’t get along at the end of the day and regardless of how I feel, it doesn’t mean anything when he doesn’t feel the same.”  _

_ Pansy had tried to convince her otherwise but after a while, it was clear Hermione wasn’t going to listen and they parted ways, with Pansy returning to the castle and Hermione laying on her back, next to the lake.  _

_ It was late now and Hermione was contemplating getting up and returning to her dorm, before she fell asleep outside, and while there may not have been a werewolf roaming the grounds of Hogwarts that night, she didn’t particularly want to deal with any of the creatures that did still, even non magical ones.  _

_ “Granger.” She heard a voice break through the silence of the night surrounding her. A voice that she didn’t particularly want to hear, given the direction of her last conversation.  _

_ “Two Slytherins in one night, must be a record,” she muttered under her breath.  _

_ “What’s that Granger, the title of your erotic novel?” Fuck. He’d heard her.  _

_ “Don’t be foul, Malfoy.”  _

_ “Come up with something original Granger.”  _

_ “Why stray from the classics?” She responded, if only a little bitterly.  _

_ “You’re not upset with me, are you?” _

_ She didn’t say anything. _

_ “Come on Granger, who would we be if we didn’t argue with each other? I’d like to think it’s our special thing.”  _

_ She wondered if he could feel her rolling her eyes at him. _

_ “Granger.” _

_ No response. _

_ “Graaanger.”  _

_ Nothing. _

_ “It’s no fun if you don’t say anything- I can’t hold such a stimulating conversation on my own- no matter how brilliant I am.”  _

_ “Funny how you find it stimulating when I can feel my brain cells dying. Don’t you have someone else to bother, Malfoy?” _

_ “Why is it that you assume I’m always coming to bother you.” _

_ “Our history would lead us to that conclusion.” _

_ “So it can’t change.” _

_ “I would say a lot has changed over the past couple years, and yet.”  _

_ “And yet,” he responded almost sadly. This time Hermione stood up and left a Slytherin laying on the grass, looking at the sky in contemplation. _

Present time, Wednesday afternoon 

“You know what,” Hermione started, snapping out of her memory, “I might take this back to my room if that’s alright with you Pansy.”

“Now don’t be like that Granger, don’t be a spoilsport- we’re just having a little fun.”

Hermione ignored Pansy, and decided to open the box there. Her breath caught when she saw the beautiful pearl comb inside. It was golden with 3 big pearls and then many tiny ones surrounding them. The prongs coming off it were sharp and glistened in the light. 

It was stunning.

Confused, Hermione gently set the comb down in the box and found the note slipped in on the side. 

_ You may not need to bring attention to your hair, but this comb would add to the magnificence that it already is.  _

Magnificence. Well that certainly wasn’t a word she’d heard in regards to her hair. 

She couldn’t stop staring at the comb. The way it was delicate, yet strong enough that it wouldn’t get buried in her hair. The only time she’d adorned her hair with anything was during the Yule Ball, and even then, it was nothing like this.

“Granger, marry them.” 

“Sorry?” Her attention broke from the comb.

“There’s someone out there who not only can put up with your hair, but seems to find it appealing. Marry that person.” 

This time Hermione did pack up her things and leave.

* * *

It was another Saturday night in the joint 8th year common room. 

The game of choice tonight was truth or dare. They’d already been playing for a few hours and it was safe to say not a single person was sober. The truths were of the general variety, finding out about first times and crushes and who’d broken what rule. Hermione had been mildly surprised to find out Ron’s first kiss was Padma at the Yule Ball- she’d never have guessed that, with the way the night had ended. 

The dares had been more interesting with Harry streaking across the 6th floor, a few of them cheering him on as loud as possible, almost hoping to wake the portraits up and embarrass him further. Pansy was now sporting maroon and gold locks and would be for the next week. Hannah had performed a wonderful rendition of Christina Warbeck’s You Charmed the Heart Right Out of Me (had Neville been blushing?). Theo had danced a salsa with Blaise, and Hermione had transfigured cat ears onto her head (making Harry and Ron nearly cry laughing as they remembered her brief days as a cat). 

With the hours getting closer and closer to morning, everyone started heading out and to bed, reading to spend their Sunday morning and most likely afternoon sleeping off the night and for some, trying to avoid being awake with a hangover. Soon the only ones left were her, Harry, Pansy and him. Malfoy. 

“Did I tell you how much I love those ears on you Granger? Really distracts from the bushiness of your hair,” Malfoy commented after a couple minutes of them all sitting in silence. She was leaning against the couch that he was sitting on- on the other end of course. Harry was laying down on the floor in front of her, stomach on the ground and glasses slightly skewed with his head turned facing her and the couch. Pansy was curled up in the single seat by the fire, head tilted up and eyes closed. 

“Real original Malfoy, you’d think you’d have better content than bushy hair after 8 years,” she replied, rolling her eyes slightly, refusing to give him the satisfaction she now knew he got from their arguments. 

“Why stray from the classics?” He asked. She could almost feel the smirk on his face. She grit her teeth. 

“Merlin can both of you just shut up,” Harry groaned from his place on the ground, “my head’s already spinning, I don’t need you two arguing to make it worse.” 

Pansy scoffed.  _ Oh no.  _ “Potter, surely you know by now. You can’t possibly be that oblivious. How in the world did anyone ever think you could take on He Who Must Not Be Named on your own?” 

“Oi, I resent that! I’d like to think I did pretty well- we’re still here aren’t we? And he’s not,” Harry pouted like a child.

“And yet you can’t see what’s right in front of you. Maybe it’s not your head, maybe you need to get your glasses checked- are you sure you can see?” 

“What are you on about Parkinson?” 

Hermione wasn’t about to let Pansy answer that- they may be friends, but Pansy was still a Slytherin at heart and loyalty and keeping secrets secret and  _ not revealing deep dark information that her friend had told her in the greatest confidence _ meant nothing to her. 

“You know what, Harry, we should probably head to bed,” Hermione stated, pushing up from the floor and pull Harry up. He got up without her and slipped away before she could reach for him and lead him out the door. 

“Leave him be Granger,” Malfoy butted in, “I would like to know what Pansy’s talking about.”

“Well surely, it’s obvious. All their arguing, all the hexing? It’s their version of foreplay.” 

Silence. 

Harry laughed an uncomfortable laugh. “Foreplay?” She needed to fix this. She couldn’t look at him.

“She’s joking Harry, of course it’s not foreplay. Have you ever heard anything so ridiculous? Me and Malfoy? That would never happen.” It all rushed out of her mouth, as she put all her effort into keeping her tone even and not allowing them to know she was about to break down, crying. What would he think? 

Too busy letting everyone know she would never flirt in any manner with Draco Malfoy, she didn’t notice the boy in question look away from her, nor did she notice the flicker of hurt in his eyes. 

“Really?” Pansy asked, with a smirk. Hermione looked sharply over to her. 

“Yes really. We’re the opposite of compatible.” 

“Ok then Granger,” Pansy started. Hermione didn’t like that tone of voice. It was calculating. Nothing good ever came out of Pansy’s calculating voice. Focusing fully on Pansy now, not only because she was trying to avoid thinking about him, she noticed the sudden clearing up of Pansy’s eyes and the way they quickly flickered to Harry. She looked over to Harry too. He was avoiding looking at her, but smiling slightly at Pansy. Oh no. He wasn’t good at hiding things, not from her and the way he was looking at Pansy. He knew she was up to something and he approved, which didn’t look very good for Hermione. “I do believe we ended the game with my turn.”

“Game?” she asked, confused by the train of thought.

“Truth or dare. So Granger, truth or dare.”

“The game’s over Pansy.”

“Sounds like you’re too afraid Granger, where’s your Gryffindor courage?” 

She could hear her heartbeat in her ears. If she walked away, it would be like admitting her crush on Malfoy (she still hadn’t looked at him). If she chose truth, she’d have to drink the diluted veritaserum and Pansy wasn’t known for subtlety so there was no way that would end well for her. 

“Dare.” But she hadn’t said it. It was Malfoy. She finally turned to him. He was looking straight at Pansy.

Pansy smirked.

“I dare you to take Granger on a date to Hogsmeade.”

Harry choked on his drink. She saw Malfoy’s eyes widen slightly in surprise. She couldn’t even imagine the horror that was probably on her face. She quickly reached out to Harry and grabbed his drink, bringing it to her lips, trying to neutralize whatever expression was on her face. 

“Now Potter, I think it’s time for us to head to bed- what do you think?”

“Ye-yeah,” Harry responded, clearing his throat before walking straight towards the portrait door, reaching out and grabbing Pansy on the way. She could hear the two of them whispering and Harry laughing quietly, incredulously, as they left her with him.

She could feel his eyes on her. What was he thinking? Merlin, what was she thinking, letting Pansy and Harry corner her in like that, letting them lead to exactly this. He stood up. 

A beat. A second beat. She could hear her heartbeat. Or maybe that was his. She wanted to swallow, but it would be too loud. She stood there unmoving, scared that the slightest shift would tear through the energy in the room. It was stifling and yet not a single cell in her body wanted to do anything about it. She could hear a buzzing in her ears, feel the heat from the fire making her lightheaded, and she was pretty sure if she looked down at her chest, she would see a palpable mass ready to push out of her, where her heart was meant to be. 

She was ready to stand there forever, to not shatter whatever was going on between them, but apparently he wasn’t. 

He took a step towards her. He was already too close- why was he moving closer? He was right in front of her now. He was so close that she was scared of taking too deep breath, worried that her chest would expand and brush against him. 

She closed her eyes. She kept her breathing shallow, partially opening her mouth, trying to avoid inhaling the scent of him, her senses already overwhelmed. She could feel him all around her. 

He opened his mouth. “Granger.” 

She stayed still. 

“Hermione.” 

She had thought she was already still. But then he said her name.  _ Hermione. _ She stopped breathing.

There was a pause, as neither of them moved. The only sounds in the room were the beating of their hearts and the fire crackling. The sounds were muted, as if in the background, the pounding of her heart making it hard for her to focus on anything else. 

“Look at me,” he whispered quietly. She could feel him breathing, the air from him hitting the side of her face, hitting her neck. 

She felt his fingers brush her shoulder and she came alive. Her eyes jerked open and she tilted her head back, staring directly into his eyes. 

She wished she could read his eyes, but staring into them was more than she could handle. It was unfair how bright they were. It was unfair how beautiful they were. 

“What do you say? Should we do it? Me and you.” 

She’d forgotten how to breathe.  _ We. Me and you.  _ When was the last time she’d taken a breath? When he’d said her name? She wished he’d say it again. 

“Let’s prove them wrong.” 

And the illusion was shattered. 

* * *

It was a Friday evening when she received the fourth owl.

This was the first owl she’d received when she was by herself. Sitting on the edge of the bed, Hermione had been attempting to pull her hair up into a ponytail when she heard the tapping on the window. 

Almost instinctively she knew it was from her secret admirer. And for the first time, she didn’t want it. The excitement of receiving the gifts had diminished now that she didn’t really want to know who was sending them. It wasn’t that she didn’t like the gifts. It was just that something deep down in her had wanted it to be Malfoy sending them, and it wasn’t. It was fine. He may not be her secret admirer, but he was the man who had asked  _ her  _ on a date. And maybe it had been Pansy and Harry who were actually behind the date, but he’d still asked. And the way he’d leaned in close, the way she could still feel his breath on her neck and the side of her face- some part of him had wanted to, hadn’t it? 

But then he’d ruined it, letting her know it was only for the dare. Surely they could spend time together because they’d have to but willingly? No, that would never happen. They could spend time together to prove they didn’t like each other, because of course, he didn’t like her. 

And so with a small sigh, she stood and walked over to the window, unlatching the glass pane and letting the small brown owl in her room. Letting the owl make a couple laps around the room before settling down on the desk in front of her, she quickly untied the now familiar black package from its claws and let the owl fly back out in the night air. 

Not pausing to wonder what it could be, she unwrapped the present, not bothering to do so neatly. It was a small cube box with no markings. It was heavy as if there was a rock in it. Frowning slightly and scrunching her eyebrows unconsciously, Hermione opened the box and dumped the object out onto her bed. 

A snow globe.  


* * *

It was Sunday. The day of her date with Malfoy. 

Hermione was supposed to meet him at 10.

At 9:30, she sat in front of her mirror, staring at her hair. She turned her head to the right, watching the way the sun caught on her pearl hair comb. 

At 9:50, she walked out the dorm, wrapping a warm blue scarf around her neck. 

At 10, she saw Malfoy standing by the carriages, staring off into the distance. 

At 10:05, she reached him, walking up behind and gently grabbing his arm. 

He stiffened. He looked down at her, eyes getting wide.

Before he could say anything, she started pulling him towards the carriages.

“Draco.” She swore she could feel him stop breathing. “Let’s go to Honeydukes first. I’ve just run out of sugar quills.” 

“You’ve run out.” He repeated in disbelief.

“Yes, I’ve run out.” There had been 50 in the box she’d received not even a month ago. “And after that, I was thinking we could stop at that new robes shop that opened. I’ve got this beautiful scarf and I was thinking I could get some gloves to go with it. What do you think?”

“What do I think about you getting gloves?”

“No, do you think they’d have the matching gloves there?” 

“Why would I know that Granger?” he asked wearily. 

“Hermione.”

“What?” 

“You called me Hermione before. I think you should continue.” 

“Why?”

“You know,” she said, once they’d settled into the carriage and begun the trip to Hogsmeade, “I’ve been friends with Ron and Harry for almost a decade now.”

“Yes you’re been the insufferable trio the entire time I’ve known you.” His words had no bite. He was looking down at his hand, which hers were now covering.

“And they’ve talked a lot about Quidditch.”

“As do most people.”

“They’ve always assumed I wasn’t interested in the sport.”

“You’ve brought books to matches in the past.”

“Not because I hate flying.”

“You love flying- you just hate when you’re the one doing it.”

“Nobody else knows that.”

He looked away, his cheeks turning pink.

She continued, smiling slightly as she looked up at him, “You’re the only one who asked me that question. Everyone just assumed my favorite part of magic was the magic part and wand waving. I’ve never told anyone how seeing people fly on brooms made it real in a way that even wands couldn’t. That while not every witch story I’d heard had wands, they all flew on broomsticks. That it was the one thing that never fully made sense- why a broomstick? And that’s why I loved it so much.”

“Why are we talking about this Granger?” He asked, not looking at her.

“Hermione.”

“Why are we talking about this Hermione?”

“You know why. Because there’s a snow globe sitting back on my bedside table that has little brooms zooming around it. No one else would have picked that. You know that.” 

He turned back towards her, suddenly looking fierce, “They mean nothing.” 

“They mean something.” 

His demeanour shifted into tiredness, “But like you said Granger, you and me? That would never happen.”

“I didn’t mean that.”

“Didn’t you? Everything I saw, you take it to mean something else. I’m surprised you could even tell these were from me.” 

“I wanted them to be from you,” she whispered, looking down and away from him for the first time during this conversation. He looked shocked at her confession. “But why did you send them?” 

“The quill was just because you’d broken yours and you deserved one as special as you are. And then I saw your reaction, the way you lit up and I just kept sending them. They made you glow and you deserve to feel like that always. And then with the date, I figured we were already going, so I might as well send you the snow globe, even though I knew you’d figure it out. I found it last summer and with everything coming to a head anyways, it seemed like the perfect time to give it to you.” 

“Summer?” He’d bought her the snow globe months ago?

“I saw it and it reminded me of you.” 

Hermione had never been the one to make a first move, but with Draco Malfoy, it seemed like everything was flipped upside down, like her entire world was shaking and somehow, it felt right. 

She reached up, slipping her hand behind his neck and pushing down slightly on it, while tilting her head up. She looked straight into his eyes, and the silver eyes that were usually so hard to read seemed molten in that moment, emotion running through them. She moved closer, feeling her breath catch in sync with his, and gently touched her lips to his. 

She moved her head back to look into his eyes, but they were closed. She was still holding her breath. 

Just when she thought she’d faint if she didn’t breathe, she felt his hands grip her waist and lift her onto him, his head leaning down and his lips catching hers. She felt his arms wrap around her back, pulling her closer as they kissed. 

As much as his gifts made her glow, nothing compared to this moment. 

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> anyways hmu on twitter @barnespadfoot or on tumblr at @veriteserum


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